ttled in at the kitchen table, and the adult in him slipped away. Two children now, they pressed their noses against the glass.
5.\tThe light from the street lamp on the corner filtered down through the birch trees, casting a glow as green as a summer memory upon the winter-brown back yard. From the distance came the endless echo of the stoplight, flashing its ruby message, teasing like a dawn that would not come.
6.\tThe flakes were falling thick and hard now, pouring past the window, a waterfall of mystery. Occasionally, one would stick to the glass, as if reluctant to tumble to its fate. Then, slowly, slipping and sliding down the glass, it would melt, its beauty fleeting. Gone.
7.\tWithin an hour, a white tablecloth was spread upon the lawn. And as gray steaks of dawn unraveled along the black seam of the distant hills, father and daughter watched the new day ripple across the neighborhood.
8.\tA porch light came on. A car door slammed. A television flickered.
9.\tAcross the street, a family scurried into gear. But this day was different. Glimpsed through undraped windows as they darted from room to room, the slim figures of the children seemed to grow ever fatter until; finally, the kitchen door flew open and out burst three awesomely bundled objects that set instantly to rolling in the snow.
10.\tHe wondered where they had learned this behavior. Even the littlest one, for whom this must have been the first real snowfall, seemed to know instinctively what to do.
11.\tThey rolled in it, they tasted it, they packed it into balls and tossed it at one another. Then, just when he thought they might not know everything, they set about shaping a snowman on the crest of the hill.
12.\tBy the time the snowman’s nose was in place, the neighborhood was fully awake. A car whined in protest, but skidded staunchly out of its driveway. Buses ground forward like Marines, determined to take the hill. And all the while, the